


Up In The Air

by DoctorFitzy (KittooningMalijah)



Series: pretty boy and the punk from brooklyn [2]
Category: Overlord (2018)
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Birthday, Flying, Gen, M/M, morton chase gets nervous on airplanes pass it on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 11:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16617998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittooningMalijah/pseuds/DoctorFitzy
Summary: Life is rarely easy. The universe decides to throw you curveballs from time to time. And on occasion, those curveballs come in the form of a three and a half hour flight delay when you’re supposed to be celebrating.





	Up In The Air

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still in TibbetChase shipper hell, and I meant to post this on the 12th, which is when I headcanon Chase's birthday is, but I missed that personal deadline because, get this - I was stuck in an airport.
> 
> Because I work there, not because my flight was delayed, but here you guys go a fluffy (kinda?) birthday oneshot because full offense every single character in Overlord (I don't know a Wafner) deserved happiness.

         The repeated sound of a camera shutter from halfway down the row of poorly padded seats seemed to get more and more grating the longer the flight was delayed. From what Tibbet could tell, the tireless photographer was  _ on _ his extremely late flight, seeing as most of the other gates had cleared their waiting areas at least once since he'd sat down — three hours prior to when the sound of the camera got on his nerves enough that he couldn't help but to say something.

         "Hey, pretty boy, you might want to save some of the space on that fancy camera of yours for your destination." He made sure his accent was clear with the words, a giveaway that he would be on the same flight headed to New York from the other side of the country. If his fellow passenger was going to be making noise and being a general nuisance, it had to stop before they boarded. 

         When the head of curls lifted, his gaze moved from the camera to Tibbet himself, cheeks flushed a faint shade of pink. Or maybe that was just his complexion, not that he cared at all, but while he was making observations, he might as well include that. 

         “I can always delete the pictures I don’t need...”

         He was a local, that was clear by the way his lips framed his words. It was almost shockingly different from the New Yorker’s own sharper syllables, though something he was very used to after his trip. Three months in the Pacific Northwest, and he was very used to the people around him sounding different. 

         Still, this  _ kid _ four seats down didn’t get any special treatment just for being on his home turf. “Maybe you can, but my ears can only take so much. No more pictures while we wait, got it? You're already giving me a headache."

         Blue eyes blinked back at him, a hint of fear or guilt visible that he assumed was from the tone he'd used. Actually, he'd heard more than a few apologies throughout his vacation, so maybe that was a local thing, too. Oregonians were weird. 

         After a long moment, the other man spoke up again, his voice somewhat shaky — so it had been fear in his eyes, before, after all. "Oh... I— I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was being a bother, and... I can stop, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was so loud..." His hands were shaking as much as his words, and the camera in his hands might have fallen if the strap wasn't settled where it was around his neck. Tibbet wouldn't say he cared about that camera, but it looked pretty expensive, and that would probably lead to a whole new loud crisis.

         "That's all I'm asking of you, pretty boy." 

* * *

         When the plane finally boarded, he thought he'd be free. The chances of him ever seeing that jumpy little photographer or his noisy camera again were rather low, and that was exactly how he liked them. He was going to spend the five hour flight home in comfortable quiet, with his headphones in and his eyes closed. At least, that was the plan until the seat next to his was occupied, and he could see a camera bag out of the corner of his eye.

         Very slowly, he put his headphones in and turned his head, looking out the window so that he could avoid any potential conversation. A short conversation about his complaints in the terminal was one thing, but there was a whole cross country flight ahead of them, and he didn't think he'd be able to stand putting up with this  _ man of art _ trying to apologize over and over again — for  _ five hours _ . No, he didn't hate himself quite that much.

         Of course, his luck didn't hold out. In less than a minute, before the door at the front of the plane even had a chance to close, he could feel eyes on him. He didn't even have to look over to know that those eyes recognized him. Their last conversation had only been about an hour before, after all, and he did pride himself on being unforgettable. He'd also been a bit rude, but he cared about that part less.

         "Oh... hello, again. I think there's a few empty seats; I could probably switch to a different row, or something, if you want..."

         The conversation had started, and Tibbet was all but forced to look over at him — he could be rude, but that didn't mean he always had to be. He  _ could _ be nice, when he wanted to, and while he didn't necessarily want to be nice to someone he only knew to be annoying, they were going to be next to each other for an entire flight, and the last thing he needed was to be kicked off his only mode of transportation home. It was almost time for the holidays, and if he was any later than he already was, there would be so much family drama that he'd willingly  _ drive _ back to Portland with the ridiculous, camera obsessed, blue eyed, curly haired idiot. At least he'd have a couch to crash on, if he hid on the other side of the country.

         With a sigh, he looked down at the camera being clutched in the other man's lap, shaking his head while he took out a single headphone and feeling himself frown. It wasn't an ideal situation, but he could at least try to make the most of it. Reluctantly. "Don't worry about it, pretty boy. The name's Jimmy Tibbet. Is New York your final destination or are you missing a connecting flight?"

         Blue eyes blinked over at him, maybe a little stunned by the kinder tone than the one he'd adopted before they'd boarded their flight, but he did manage a response, after a few moments. "Erm... Morton Chase. And I'm going to New York for an assignment, I... I might have to reschedule a few things, but there aren't any connecting flights for me to worry about."

         Tibbet nodded his head, humming thoughtfully and glancing up when the flight attendants started to walk down the aisle and get things ready for takeoff. Everyone was a few hours behind schedule, but most of everyone on the flight had stopped caring. Besides, he was more occupied with his current conversation than his worries about timing.

         "What's with the camera, anyway? You seem pretty attached to that thing."

         He watched while Morton shrugged his shoulders, reluctantly tucking his camera away under the seat in front of him. It wasn't like he was doing a great job at hiding his unhappiness at having to let go of it, which only made the question more reasonable. "It was a birthday gift from my dad, last year. He's been getting me a new camera every year since I was sixteen — and I love my job, and traveling to take my pictures, but unfortunately, this particular assignment means I have to wait almost a whole week to do any of my family's silly birthday traditions. But, if I'd known about the delay, I probably could have made lunch plans, and I wouldn't be... you know, alone in an airport terminal for almost four hours on my birthday."

         There almost wasn't a way to respond to the words, at least not without a bit of thought on what he actually wanted to say. And when he did finally settle on something, it wasn't great. "And now you're stuck on a five hour flight next to an asshole from Brooklyn. Your luck this year is pretty shit, kid."

         "Oh, and I hate flying." Morton shrugged again, offering up a sheepish smile while his cheeks turned pink. "Sorry for whatever I may say or do before we land. Normally, I'd take the train, but the project is part of some special Thanksgiving issue of the magazine, and time is of the essence, and all that. You're luckier than I am. I'll probably just buy a drink when we get in the air and then I'll take a nap. You won't have to deal with me giving you any more headaches."

         Tibbet scoffed, shaking his head while the corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk. "Tell you what, birthday boy — you buy me one of those drinks, too, and I won't complain a lick if you screw around with that camera of yours for the entire five hours."

         All at once, the other man's sheepish expression turned to one of utter relief, and he even seemed to sit up a bit straighter. "Deal."


End file.
